#kitjustkit

Unusual Questions for the Muse

@kit-just-kit

“Does the ridiculously expensive tourist chocolate from the Westminster souvenir shop count as a guilty pleasure? Because…yes, I am quite guilty of going out to buy that specific brand at times when a meeting has been particularly boring, although there are cheaper and better options.”

Send 🥪❓ to find out what kind of sandwich my muse would make for yours or if they would make one to begin with

@kit-just-kit

Send ☑️🔞 and my muse will tick what they usually would welcome if it came from your muse, with no warning

@kit-just-kit

“That’s—now, I—”

“Christ…”

Meme: Send a word and I will write a drabble or headcanon based on it Status: Open Url: @kit-just-kit

North of four am. Bones crack in the silence when he tilts his head just the right way.

"Yes...yes I know. Peel and stick, Holly. It's not rocket science."

Hey don't shoot the messanger, boss. Im just repeating what she's telling me.

"Yea all right."

There's a sigh. A lean back in his chair the makes the wood creak. FIngers tapping on the keyboard, making minor adjustments to the code he's trying to make work.

Uh...n-now she says you need to go back to the core data and---Hey! don't you get snappy with me miss thang. Slow down then. I can't---oom--Rads stop---let me just--

And very quickly the camera goes topsy turvy. THe screen rattling about in a blur until very quickly it all comes back into focus. Radio's face filling up the frame instead of Hollywoods.

Rads no...you gotta...I'm not taking it Christ woma--EY NO BITING! i just...let me put it---THERE!

And there she is, phone propped up now most likely on her smoking cow statue if he remembers the lay out of her desk at all. Hands moving a mile a minute and yes okay now he gets why Holly couldn't keep up. But unlike their resident James Dean---Billy keeps up with her mostly. Fingers flying across the keys, one thing then the next thing then the next. Fifteen minutes later--

"Okay its running. Thanks Radio....yes. Yes I won't forget your chocolates. I already ordered them this morning. Yep put...Holly where are you?"

Blonde hair pops into the corner of the screen then backs up.

Here.

"Tell Keys to pick me up in three days."

Roger roger, Boss.

There's an eye roll before he's hanging up. The quiet falling in the empty room around him. Blue that glances about as he shuts the laptop. Gets up and stretches as far as his length will allow. Held for five and released, rocking back on his heels. Okay. Time for tea and the left over muffin from yesterday. After that---

-PING-

<Text: unknown> Tomorrow. 3pm.

A nod. Good. Tomorrow is perfect. Get in set the bait get out again. He'll have the target bagged in less than 48 hours. Just enough time to maybe pick up pizza for dinner on the way home. Charlie does so very much enjoy having the night off when its possible. And he's switching screens, a text sent off before he's getting started. Lots to do and little time to do it in and all that.

Tell me about…

@kit-just-kit

“There are many moments like this. You…manage to make me laugh so effortlessly, your sense of humour is wonderful, Katherine. If I had to pick one memory, though…I would say when you were slightly tipsy on wine that one evening and impersonated certain agents. I remember I was laughing so hard, I almost spat out my drink.”

" I'm inviting YOU. what's so hard about that to understand, doctor? I want YOU and only you, kitty. " he takes her hand, palm up, and places a velvet crush jewlery box smack dab in the center; inside was a customized monogramed necklace. " and wear that. it's a 'k' ... for ... kit. " or for kelly.

Ronan noticed the way she hesitated before she even answered him — like she was bracing for impact from a simple offer. That alone told him plenty. He grinned when she corrected herself, finding it amusing in a good sense. “Hey, hey,” he chuckled, palms up in surrender. “Didn’t think you were angling for a free ride. Just saw someone who looked like she could use a win.” When she said vodka on the rocks, his brows lifted approvingly. “Solid choice.” He turned to the bartender. “Two. And make ‘em honest.”

A brow arched, taken aback by the attitude of the woman before him. “They work,” he said at last, voice smooth as polished marble. “The question is whether you do.” His fingers brushed the top plaque, not to count them, not to verify—just to feel the weight. He already knew the denomination. He also knew she knew he knew. The money wasn’t the statement. She was.

Dorian leaned back in his chair, studying her the way one might assess a rare piece at auction, or in this case, a poker card that, once played, gave its holder the win. Was she aware he owned this place? He could easily pose as a man who was here to win and no more, but in truth, he did enjoy a game now and then, aside from observing how customers behaved in his casino. “You didn’t bring enough to impress me,” he continued mildly.